by R. G. Green
“That’s what any of us would do if we were captured in the northern lands,” Kherin admitted bitterly. Cloak and sword were laid across the chair, and the cup was accepted with a nod of thanks. Kherin moved by habit to sit on the bed, noting absently that it was still neatly made, and the few pieces of furniture hadn’t been moved from where the inn’s servants had left them after cleaning. He smelled cinnamon and cloves as he took his first sip, and only vaguely acknowledged the rudeness of sitting on the bed while his clothes were still damp. Derek didn’t comment on it, however, and instead took his usual post by the window, leaning against the wall with his cup held loosely in front of him. The familiar position almost made Kherin smile.
Almost.
Instead he scowled. “He knows we want information out of him, and he knows we know he has it, and he knows that as long as he keeps it, we won’t kill him.” Kherin’s scowl focused on the cup in his hand and the swirl of dark mulled wine it contained. “And he’s right. As much as I would love to strangle it out of him, he knows I won’t.”
The corner of Derek’s mouth lifted at how tersely the report was given, but he sipped from his cup rather than remarking on it.
“He doesn’t seem worried that we’ll resort to torture for the information either,” Kherin went on. Then he looked at the trader sharply. “I wouldn’t allow that anyway, even if half of the Defenders would think nothing of it.”
Derek’s smile both softened and broadened. “I know you wouldn’t.” Then he let out a heavy breath as his expression sobered. “He does seem to know far more about us than we do about him. Him, or any of the northerners, for that matter,” he mused quietly. “We’ve been at a disadvantage on that front for far longer than we realized.”
“He knows his silence guarantees his safety,” Kherin spat out in frustration. His next drink from the cup drained nearly half of it, and he grimaced at the sharpness of the alcohol. Derek chuckled quietly as Kherin gasped at the taste. Kherin turned his scowl on him for just a moment and then glared at the wine.
“The only positive thing in this whole situation is that I don’t have to figure out how we’re supposed to understand each other,” Kherin muttered darkly. “I just need to figure out how to make him talk.” Kherin was about to let out another vicious curse when the sound of the trader’s quiet laugh stopped him.
“Gain his trust,” Derek said calmly, drawing Kherin’s sharp gaze back to him. “Win it, buy it, trade for it, or bribe it away from him. Make him so angry he forgets his disguise, trick him into giving himself away, or spy on him until he makes a mistake.” He smiled. “It’s not so much figuring out what to do as it is making the decision about which to do. Your options are there, my prince, so decide which option is the best to take.”
Kherin stared at him, resisting the urge to shake his head. “You sound like a politician, or a merchant,” he told the trader bluntly, though with just enough humor to keep it from being insulting. He leaned back across the bed and eyed the trader with a sudden look of suspicion. “So exactly how do you gather the information you give to my father?”
Derek laughed outright then, then pushed himself from the wall and dropped heavily on the bed, stroking Kherin’s knee as he nudged his legs aside. He left his hand in place as he spoke.
“Trading is always about exchanging one thing for the other. Even shepherds, shopkeepers, and farmers have things they are willing to give if they can be persuaded to part with them. And if the currency is right.” His eyes danced mischievously. “And that currency, my prince, is not always money.”
“You mean sex?” Kherin nearly bit his tongue as the words came out. It seemed obvious, but he certainly hadn’t meant to say it out loud or make it sound the way it did. He rolled his eyes as Derek laughed again, though he didn’t resist when one finger caught his chin and pulled him to meet the trader’s eyes.
“That would be prostitution, my prince. They are not the same vocation.”
Kherin snorted, and Derek was still chuckling when he let the prince go. “Convince your father to let you travel with me, and you can see for yourself how the art of trading works. It would be a good learning experience, if nothing else.”
Kherin grunted, not for a second believing the trader was serious, and then immediately realizing how irrelevant the idea was, regardless. His father had fought against his coming to Gravlorn to fulfill his duty as a Defender. He certainly wouldn’t allow him to wander through the country as a trader.
Yet Gravlorn was exactly where he was….
He cleared his throat as he pushed the thought aside, knowing better than to place too much hope into that line of thinking. “Did you learn anything helpful at the camp?” he asked instead, pointedly changing the subject.
A briefly raised eyebrow said Derek had caught the abruptness of the change, but the trader let it go and shrugged in answer to the question. “Nothing of consequence. The strangest fact of it all is the northerners’ retreat when they were not yet defeated. If I were to guess, it would seem they fought only to draw the Defenders out, and once they had done so”―he shrugged again—“they left.”
“Which makes no sense, unless they were trying to draw our attention east….” Kherin’s eyes narrowed at the implications, even as Derek shook his head.
“Nothing happened anywhere west while the battle took place in the east. No attacks and no signs of damage or theft while no one was looking.”
“They could have crossed the river on that side of the camp while we were distracted….” But Kherin was shaking his own head now, even before he finished his thought. “Except they were already hidden on the east side, and revealing themselves only guaranteed that both sides of the camp would be searched. They had to have realized that before they decided to attack.” He let out a heavy sigh as he took another sip. “None of it makes any sense.”
Derek shrugged. “Not at the moment,” he agreed simply. “Which is why you shouldn’t delay in choosing a method to gain information from your prisoner.”
Kherin sighed, acknowledging the less than delicate way the trader had brought them back to the most pressing issue at hand. He looked up at him with the intent of conceding the point, but was caught by the sudden realization of just how close Derek was. He could see the beard shadow of his unshaved chin, the soft hollow just above the collar, and the damp strands of hair that curled teasingly around his neck. A flush warmed his face as his eyes moved up to find Derek watching him, and with an effort he forced his thoughts back from where they had been wandering. He didn’t want this last night at the inn to end like it always did when their conversation turned to that. He hastily sipped from his cup to cover anything the trader would see in his face.
“You’re still leaving in the morning, aren’t you?” he asked after swallowing, trying to keep his tone light as he repeated the question yet again, and keep it void of any accusation or hope. “To see if you can find something in Dennor to make more sense of things here.”
Derek continued watching him so intently Kherin nearly fidgeted, but he finally gave a small nod as he lifted his hand to brush it through the prince’s hair. “To find something that will make sense out of the north in general. Yes, my prince, I’ll still be leaving in the morning and should reach Dennor in a few days. I don’t plan to linger on the road.”
Kherin had known the answer before he asked. And he wanted to make himself accept it, but it was difficult with the trader’s gentle touch reminding him what he was losing. But he couldn’t change it, and he didn’t want to argue, not tonight. It was a painful effort, but he forced a smile he didn’t feel and met the trader’s eyes.
“I’ll join you in the morning before you leave,” he said. “And make sure you don’t forget anything you need to take with you.”
Gratitude flickered in the trader’s eyes, and he slipped his fingers through his hair affectionately. “I’ll have food brought early and visit Adrien before I go.” The invitation was clear, and Kherin nodded his accep
tance. A soft laugh from the trader broke what was becoming a solemn mood. “And speaking of your brother, you should go back to the hospice and make sure he’s still sleeping. If he’s not, he will be waiting to hear what you learned.”
Kherin snorted, the sheer truth of that statement pushing his despairing thoughts aside. “He probably made it a point to wake up just so he could hear everything as soon as he could,” he grumbled, though it was obvious there was no malice behind it. He drained his cup as he sat up, and placed it on the bedside table as he pushed himself to his feet. He paused long enough to stretch his arms over his head, lengthening his body to wake up the muscles that had begun to turn sluggish. Derek was nearly laughing again as he came around the bed, but the words he spoke were serious.
“You need to rest while you can as well, my prince. You’ve got some busy days ahead of you, and you’ll need your strength to see them through.”
Kherin huffed out a breath of agreement, but gave no other response as he trudged to where his cloak lay dripping on the floor. He tossed it over his arm rather than donning it, and the sword belt joined it in the crook of his elbow. He wasn’t surprised when Derek accompanied him to the door, or by the hand that lay easily at the small of his back. The gesture was familiar and comfortable….
But only when he stood at the door did the reality of the situation finally hit him.
This would be his last visit here, to this attic room that had become a refuge, to the trader who offered his own form of solace. He would see Derek the next morning, but Gods, he hadn’t realized how much he had come to rely on Derek’s presence to calm and soothe him during the mere days they had been here.
And knowing that whatever they had—whatever they could have had—would end here, tonight…. The sharp pang of loss caught him sharply before his hand touched the door, and he couldn’t make himself open it, not yet.
Breath forced itself from his lungs, hissing sharply from his chest. If he opened the door, it would be over. What they had started in the way-stop—what he had come to understand and what Derek had admitted in this very room—would be gone.
And he didn’t want to let it go. He turned to face the trader—and found Derek standing so close to him he lost any words he would have said.
The world seemed to stop as they stood there, the moments passing unnoticed. Then one long-fingered hand rose to touch his chin, and the gentleness of the smile Derek gave him was followed by Derek leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Kherin closed his eyes under the emotion it carried. The kiss was soft and incredibly gentle, a gesture Derek had never given before, and given with such tenderness Kherin found himself reaching for the trader in return. His fingers found the soft linen of his shirt and folded in the fabric, pulling Derek closer.
That didn’t change when Derek ended the kiss and slowly pulled back. The trader’s eyes were dark and soft, and so close Kherin saw everything that was written in their depths. Derek stroked a thumb languidly across the line of Kherin’s jaw for a moment after. Then his hand fell away and the spell was broken.
“Food will be here early, my prince,” Derek reminded him softly.
Kherin swallowed, twisting the soft linen in his fingers, but he managed to whisper, “I’ll be here,” before he forced himself to break contact and turn to pull the door open.
Derek let him go, and Kherin didn’t look back as he pounded down the stairs to the common room below. The innkeeper was still behind the bar, though Kherin didn’t stop moving until he closed the door of the Harper’s Den behind him. Rain beat steadily on the empty street, echoing the hollowness Kherin felt in his stomach.
THE rain continued as the hour grew late, and its consistent patter was a steady, almost hypnotizing drumbeat in the silence of the sickroom. It hadn’t yet frozen into ice, but that promise was only days away as the winter season increasingly made itself known. The brazier provided a fair amount of light, in addition to its heat, and Kherin could see that Adrien still slept soundly. He had been sleeping when Kherin returned, and the length and calmness of it could only be encouraging. Kherin’s sleep was elusive.
Hours after leaving the Harper’s Den, he still lay awake, watching the shadows move across the ceiling as the coals in the brazier cooled and shifted. The memory of the northerner’s face still haunted him, and Derek’s words about his options were a truth he would have to deal with soon. The one thing he didn’t want to gamble on was the time to learn by trial and error. Beginning tomorrow, he would have to make those decisions—and take those gambles—on his own. Derek would be gone. The gentleness of his kiss in the attic room had spoken his good-bye.
He closed his eyes at the memory of that kiss, still feeling its warmth against his cheek, still seeing the depth of what the trader was feeling in his eyes. It wouldn’t be a permanent parting, Kherin knew. He would see Derek again when he returned to Delfore, when the trader came to the palace to meet with his father or when Kherin joined him in the city for a meal or a drink. But things would be different there, and the return to normal would push them back to the way it was before, when their affection was clear and apparent but never went beyond the lines of mere friendship. His chance had been here, in Gravlorn, and he had seen enough to know the chance he was taking wasn’t in vain. With a little more time, he may have made it through the trader’s arguments and found a way to make this work, without compromising the trader’s position or his own, less stable one.
But his time had run out. Derek was leaving. In a few more hours, he would be gone, and Kherin knew any chance he had would leave with him. He exhaled heavily as those few hours seemed to be both the longest and the shortest in his life. Everything told him that in a few hours the worst would be over and he would adjust to the trader’s absence just as he had every time the trader had left. Just a few more hours, and he would have no choice but to let his hopes go….
Then his breath stuttered suddenly, and his heartbeat increased to pound fiercely in his chest.
The words a few more hours had played over and over in his mind, taunting him with the inevitability of the trader’s leaving, repeating and confirming, becoming a mantra that thrummed through him with each moment that passed. But that inevitability wasn’t what his mind—what his heart—had been trying to tell him. He breathed out slowly, finally seeing what those words meant.
In a few more hours, Derek would be gone.
But for a few more hours….
Derek was still here.
Dear Gods. His chance had been in Gravlorn, and for a few more hours, his chance was still here.
Suddenly wide awake, he sat up with a rustle of bed linen. Adrien didn’t stir, and for that he thanked the Gods. With movements both quick and quiet, he gathered his clothes and pulled them on, his hands nearly shaking by the time he reached for his boots.
LIGHT flickered under the door the moment the candle inside was lit, and Kherin waited impatiently for the moment the door would open. He was wet and cold, but the anxiousness rippling through him pushed those uncomfortable feelings aside. He concentrated on breathing calmly, silently rehearsing the words he would say as he heard the steps on the other side draw nearer. This was his last chance to create something with Derek that neither one of them would regret. It was right, and he wouldn’t give this up now.
He was startled when the door swung open, and momentarily paralyzed when he suddenly found the trader standing less than two steps away, the dark eyes turning wary and cautious as he studied the prince’s face. Kherin could only stare back.
Derek was dressed in only the cotton pants he wore when he slept, his hair pulled back and braided, a few haphazard strands falling loosely over his bare shoulders. The candle glowing behind him limned his body in golden light, glancing off his skin in a way that drew the eye and invited the fingers to touch, while the smooth planes of his chest caught the glow of candle lamps outside the door, bringing out the prominence of his collarbone under the long line of his throat, and emphasizing the thin white scar t
hat cut the flesh from that long ago injury. Lean, muscled arms were cast in an array of light and shadow, one raised to hold the door open, the other stretching forward in search of flesh.
None of it was anything Kherin hadn’t seen before, but never had he looked at the trader so brazenly as he did now. Never had he let himself look at Derek as openly as this. Only the anxiousness in the trader’s face spoiled the sensuality of the moment, though not even the frown Derek wore could overcome the handsomeness of the strong jaw and nearly elegant features.
Then the words Kherin had prepared to speak vanished as he met that dark, surprised gaze, and his voice failed completely as the surprise in the trader’s face turned to concern.
“Kherin,” Derek began, quietly and urgently, his hand coming closer as he moved past the door. “What are you doing here? Is Adrien…?”
“How did you know I wasn’t a thief intending to rob you blind?” Kherin cut him off, forcing a lightness to his voice that was contrary to every other emotion that thrummed through him. It was similar to what he had said in jest earlier, but there was an awkwardness to his jest now. But that wasn’t the reason he was here. He held the trader’s gaze nonetheless, noting how it was dark and intense, without the softness of hours earlier, but captivating nonetheless.
One chance….
Derek raised an eyebrow in suspicion as he stopped the reach of his hand, and the arm that had been stretching toward the prince lowered slowly to his side.
“Because thieves rarely knock. What are you doing here this late? Is Adrien all right?”
Kherin grinned briefly in answer. Then he stepped forward, and Derek moved aside to let him enter. The bed was unmade, the linens bunched where the trader had been sleeping. A single candle flickered on the bedside table. The trader’s clothes were folded neatly on the seat of the chair. The rest of his bags were packed and set close to the door, his cloak draped over the top in preparation for an early departure. Kherin stepped past them with only a single cursory glance, and then turned as Derek quietly closed the door.